I noticed it in the little things first.
The way I stopped reaching for my phone when Daniel's name popped up.
The way his voice began to feel like something I had to brace myself for.
I hadn't meant to pull away. It just… happened.
Daniel called more often now. Checked in more. Asked questions that didn't sound like questions.
"Where are you?"
"Who are you with?"
"Why didn't you reply?"
At first, I told myself it was concern.
Then it started to feel like pressure.
We met one evening outside the faculty building, the air thick with heat and unspoken words. Daniel looked tired, more than usual. His clothes were clean but worn, his backpack slung over one shoulder like it had become part of him.
"You've been distant," he said without greeting me.
"I've just been busy," I replied, adjusting my bag.
"With what?" His eyes searched my face. "Because it doesn't feel like school."
That familiar guilt crept in—the one I always carried around him.
"I have exams coming up," I said carefully. "I'm stressed."
He exhaled sharply. "I'm stressed too, Morayo. You think I don't have problems?"
"I didn't say that."
"But you're acting like you're better than this now," he said. "Better than me."
The words stung.
"I've been trying to support you," I said softly. "Even when I barely have anything myself."
"I didn't ask you to," he snapped, then paused. His tone softened immediately. "I just… I feel like I'm losing you."
He stepped closer, his hand brushing mine like an anchor.
"Please," he said quietly. "Don't change on me."
Something inside me shifted, not relief, not reassurance. Fear.
Because I realized I didn't want to promise what I wasn't sure I could give anymore.
That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Daniel's problems replayed in my head...his money worries, his frustration, his growing resentment of the world and maybe of me.
My exams loomed like a wall I hadn't prepared enough for.
And then there was Femi.
The way his messages didn't demand anything.
The way he listened without making me feel small.
The way thinking about him felt wrong—and yet… safe.
I pressed my palm against my chest, my heart heavy with confusion.
I was being pulled in different directions, each one demanding more than I felt capable of giving.
And for the first time, I wondered....
What happens when love starts to feel like weight?